


I Raise My Cup

by pickledragon



Series: Pressing Matters [5]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Mettaton-centric, Post-Undertale Pacifist Route, kinda cerebral, mettaton remembers resets, we're in the endgame now kids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2020-01-16 01:47:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18511429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pickledragon/pseuds/pickledragon
Summary: The surface is a dream and Mettaton chooses to stay awake. He started his career in the Underground, and that's where he'll continue it. Lots of monsters still stay below, and they still need their stars.Of course, he takes tours on the Surface for his hordes of cheering fans. Humans are just like monsters: hungry for something to believe in. There's no place like home, though.And occasionally, a little bit of home comes back to the Underground.





	I Raise My Cup

**Author's Note:**

> this one was hard to get out guys: setting up for the finale of this series
> 
> title from hadestown

In order to know something about a person, one needs to know where they come from. The brightest stars come from the most humble beginnings, after all. 

This is his reality:

Mettaton has spent his life as a star with all the glitz and glamour he can muster. He specializes in the business of excess: grand sets, lavish hotels, programs as numerous as echo flowers in Waterfall. Each appearance is cultivated with flair for the dramatic with all of himself and then some. Mettaton tells his audience what they want so desperately to hear. The Underground loves him absolutely. 

Some of it is even true. 

This is his reality:

Happstablook spends his days inside the house, lately. A snail farm is no place to build a burgeoning musical career. Might as well distance himself from it while he can. 

Blooky has always been the better of them, creating fantastic musical pieces, but they lack the drive to ever make it big. Happy to let others take the spotlight. 

Happstablook cannot bear to let that be the rest of his life.  
So he doesn't.

\-----

The surface is a dream and Mettaton chooses to stay awake. He started his career in the Underground, and that's where he'll continue it.

Shyren and Blooky are welcome editions to his entourage. If Mettaton is honest with himself, it was getting a little lonely on the stage. Lots of monsters still stay below, and they still need their stars. 

Of course, he takes tours on the Surface for his hordes of cheering fans. Humans are just like monsters: hungry for something to believe in. There's no place like home, though. 

And occasionally, a little bit of home comes back to the Underground. 

"A toast to...

\-----

"the underestimated!" He says to Frisk. Their glasses clink over their Mettaton-brand face steaks. "I have to say, I don't think anyone thought you would do such a smashing job of the human-monster ambassador gig! Truly spectacular, much like yours truly."

Restaurant planning on the Surface has gone even better than expected. If his brand expanding quite nicely to human pop culture wasn't enough, the taste of magic in monster food proved especially alluring on the Surface. Fused with local human cooking techniques, Mettaton's retaurants were famed world-wide. It was a little curious, but Mettaton would take what he could get. At least it made for a more diverse menu, even Undergound. 

Frisk downs the drink and gives him a strange look when they finish. 

"It's _star_ flavored, darling," Mettaton winks. "A combination of yellow, red, cinnamon, and a liberal heap of glitter. 

Frisk looks at the inside of the cup dubiously. They've got sparkles all over their clothes now. 

Mettaon wipes his own spangles off of his metallic face. "Frisk I'm so glad you've come, questionable dining appreciation and all." 

Frisk smiles back at him, a (new?) golden locket lying on their sweater. Odd. Mettaton just noticed. He must be losing his touch. 

"Well, with the pleasantries out of they way, I'd simply love to ask you your opinions on...

\-----

"Papyrus' record as the new Monster-Human ambassador!" Mettaton asked. He and Frisk sat on the front porch of the big house on the Surface they had all settled into, led by Toriel, of course. It had been a busy but productive day, best finished off with some pie. Mettaton was making headway on human talk-show appearances, but it was slow going. Sans and Papyrus were out with Asgore, doing their political thing. The more important part of that statement was: it left Mettaton and Frisk some quality time together.

Frisk gives him an odd look. 

"What, is there something on my...

\-----

"back? That's for me to know, and for you to find out!"

He winks at the human in the dark hallway. They stand at the ready, clothes singed from the fires of Hotland. If Mettaton listens closely, he can hear Alphys shuffling around outside. It's almost his cue. 

"You know what? Let's try something..."

\-----

In order to know something about a person, one needs to know where they end. After all, even the brightest stars fall somewhere.

This is his reality:

Mettaton knows the Underground like the back of his hand. He's spent his entire life memorizing the back alleys and the towering buildings. It's seeped into his skin, into his head, and he wants to leave so, so badly. 

He lives on the surface now / He stayed, after all.  
Frisk left for the wide world / Frisk stayed with Toriel, with them.  
Mettaton is free / Mettaton is really, truly not. 

Some of it is even true. 

This is his reality:

The human changed things, Mettaton knows it. Time has become a dotted line, and it's filling up the paper. 

Mettaton cannot bear to let that be the rest of his life.  
So he doesn't.

**Author's Note:**

> learningthomas.tumblr.com


End file.
